The room was truly a cell: small, with concrete walls and floor, no windows, a locked door. A small desk and chair sat in one corner and a steel toilet in the other. While Clara was often free to roam the house, recently Adam had taken to confining her here for longer periods of time. Now, Clara was strapped on her metal bed, which hadn’t had a mattress on it for weeks. The buzzing between her legs continued again sending pulses into her swollen cunt. Clara thrashed against her bonds and whimpered, then cried aloud. She couldn’t help fucking against it and hated it for having such an effect. At the same time she worshipped it, for in this lonely cell, it was the proxy for Adam’s hand and his love for her. She knew that when it was removed, the hours would be empty, and at least for now she could serve him through her torture. It had been weeks since he had given her an orgasm and by now it was but a distant memory. Her orgasm was no longer the point. It was the suffering, the humiliation, the slavery.

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Clara tasted herself on Monique’s fingers as her tormentor wiped her hand across her face and stood up and backed away. She rolled over on to her hands and knees, still shaking and trying to recover. She felt used and terribly aroused. Looking over her shoulder at Adam, she saw him point to a cabinet against one wall. Clara scurried over to it quickly, scraping her knees along the floor. She could feel her wet cunt and thighs cooling in the air as she moved to fetch a whip. When she got to the cabinet she nervously opened its door to reveal an array of implements. She realized he had not given her much instruction and anxiously looked back at him for guidance, but he was now pre-occupied with Monique, dragging her roughly by her hair to the massive bookcase that covered one wall. Clara stared at him as he whispered something in Monique’s ear and she bent forward, leaning on the bookcase, arms outstretched and ass jutting back, her legs wide.

Adam turned back to Clara and she quickly returned her attention to the cabinet. Reaching out, she grabbed the closest whip, a short single-tail, black and fierce looking. She draped it over her neck and crawled back to Adam on all fours, ending at his boots. She bent down and kissed them and waited. By now Clara was strictly moving on instinct, the crawling and the kissing, quite unsure if it was appropriate, yet sensing it was. Adam reached down and grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up. He pushed her toward Monique. Taking the whip from around her neck, he held it expertly in his hands. “Watch, and learn Clara. I will show you once. After that you will begin on Monique. Understand?” Clara gulped and nodded. He wanted her to whip a girl? She had never even contemplated it. She was confused yet wanted so desperately to be obedient. As far as she knew he was still testing her.

The whip snaked slowly through the air in a back and forth action, as if Adam were painting a wall. Each flick of the wrist sent the tip moving across the cushion of a leather chair, making a soft slapping sound. Monique glanced nervously behind her. She was no newcomer to the whip, but wasn’t sure what Adam had up his sleeve. Certainly she wasn’t to be the target for Clara’s unsure hand. Adam finished his demonstration and handed it to the naked woman standing next to him. Clara looked meek and afraid. She let the whip dangle awkwardly before summoning the courage to flail it toward Monique

Predictably the first strikes were weak and ineffectual. Monique sighed
with relief and frustration. When would Adam tire of this game and take it to her with his own hands? When would she feel HIS power, raw and searing? Just then Clara struck her ass with a surprising precision. Monique jumped and almost moved her hand to cover herself. Damn, she was better at this than Monique had imagined she would be. Again a searing strike, this time across her thighs. Clara’s aim was poor, and that meant more real pain, and less of the erotic kind. She whimpered a bit, but jut out her ass, thinking she would provide the best target possible, hoping Adam would see her intentions.

Clara was doing the best she could, trying to please Adam by whipping Monique. She could see the red lines forming across her light skin, and wondered how they felt. She increased her pace. Clara was building up a sweat now as 5, then 10 minutes passed, stroke after stroke. Some of her blows were feeble, others right on the mark. Monique was moaning now with each hit, her thighs trembling as she swayed in the dim light of the room. Adam sat down and contemplated the scene, the naked girl with the whip capturing his attention, his imagination. She was the truer submissive, the one he desired, the one he was searching for. Clara was complex, her own submission a riddle, even to herself. Adam knew Monique could be useful as well, in her own way, as a foil for Clara. Across the room Monique began to weep softly.